


And The World Gets Cruel...

by CriticalRolemance (LiveLaughLoveLarry)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Coping, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, False Memories, Gen, Manipulation, Memory Alteration, Memory Magic, Past Violence, Psychological Trauma, Recovered Memories, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, Truth, Warning: Trent Ikithon, indoctrination, oh that's a good tag that really covers it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/CriticalRolemance
Summary: Graduation was a test. Of their loyalties, of their skills… of their fortitude. Astrid and Eodwulf passed. Bren failed.Now, years later, Astrid finds those qualities tested again when Trent Ikithon shows her the truth of that night.When you are so deep in, when you have chosen your path and gone so far along it that there is no turning back from what you have done… there are only two options. You can break, like Bren did. Or you can find a way to live with it.Astrid is a survivor.
Relationships: Astrid & Trent Ikithon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	And The World Gets Cruel...

**Author's Note:**

> Quick content warning: I wrote this fic imagining Astrid as pretty dissociated (both because she's just come back from a mission and because that's how she copes with complicated feelings), and I also found her falling into some patterns resembling suicidal ideation (not wanting to die, exactly, but not always wanting to live -- not always wanting anything at all) so take care of yourself if that might be difficult for you.
> 
> Title is from "High School" by Kelsea Ballerini. "You can remember, but you can't go back."

Astrid steps through the teleportation sigil into the circle chamber, brushing dirt from her skirts as she looks up to see Trent watching her. He sits on a chair in the corner, a book open on his lap. He nods a greeting at the sight of her, a thin half-smile stretches across his papery lips.

“It is done?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll have the report ready for you tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” He pushes himself to his feet. “You are such an efficient girl. Always so reliable, so dependable.”

“It is an honour to serve my Empire,” she says, the words almost automatic on her tongue. “It is an honour to make you proud.”

Trent chuckles. “It is indeed, my dear. And I am proud. You have become… so talented. Everything I might have hoped.”

“Thank you.”

She wonders why he is doing this, why he is still talking, why he is here at all. She has been on many missions by now, tracked down many quarries, questioned many enemies, executed many traitors. It is routine. Trent being here -- is not. All she wants is to go home, to wash and to sleep.

“Come with me,” he says instead, turning and walking through the doorway. She follows without a moment’s hesitation, without a second thought.

He leads Astrid upstairs, unlocking his office with a wave of his hand and ushering her in ahead of him. She stands beside the door, waiting, as he settles himself behind his desk. Only once he is seated does he motion to the chair set up opposite him. “Sit.”

She sits.

“You have done great work for the Empire,” he says. There’s a pause, as though he expects her to respond, but she can’t think of anything that merits saying. After a moment, he continues. “You have proven an excellent student, and an excellent graduate. An excellent asset to the Empire.”

“It is an honour to serve my Empire,” she says again. She means it. Even if right now she would rather be home, soaking weary bones in steaming water. But Trent asked her to come here. And he never asks anything without a reason.

“Last moon you learned a new spell,” he says. “A very useful one, though dangerous.”

“All magic is dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Very true.” Trent’s approving smile sets her teeth on edge. She wishes he would get to the point. “Modifying a man’s memories, however, is a particularly… invasive measure. And knowing such things are possible, it would only be natural to wonder how such spells might have been applied.”

He pauses for a moment, watching her for a reaction. She gives him none. She has wondered before, but it was never worth considering in depth. It didn't matter. She is Empire. She is Vollstrecker. She does what needs to be done, they both do. If her memories had been modified, it was because it was necessary.

“You have proved yourself, these past months,” Trent says. “You have been steadfastly loyal. You have earned trust.”

“My loyalty is the Empire’s to command,” Astrid murmurs. “Anything the Empire decides I have earned, I will accept gratefully, but will not demand.”

Trent’s smile widens. “Precisely, my dear,” he says. He extends his hand, palm up. Astrid automatically reaches forward, gripping his forearm, feeling his sticklike fingers dig into her own arm, the sensation made uneven by the scars that mark her skin beneath dark tattoo lines. He murmurs a few quiet words, his eyes flashing green. Astrid hears a sound like breaking glass, feels a buzzing fill her head and then recede.

Trent withdraws his arm, and Astrid does the same. Her head feels clearer and yet fuzzy, and mostly she just feels… the same. She’s not even entirely sure what memory she has regained. She can feel Trent’s eyes on her, watching for her reaction, but she doesn’t know what she’s reacting to, let alone how to react.

Her confusion must be apparent, because after a minute he speaks. “Your graduation,” he says, and oh.  _ Oh_. Well. That’s… something. 

She still doesn’t react, doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t know how to feel, doesn’t know if she feels anything at all. 

“Your parents were -- as far as I know, of course -- loyal citizens of the Empire,” Trent says after a moment. “And as such, for the good of the Empire, for their little girl to become as great as you have become, they had to be… out of the way.” He shrugs sympathetically. “Having attachments is dangerous in this line of work. There is always the chance they will be… misused. It is safer for everyone if you have no one who can be used against you.”

She absorbs what Trent says, letting it fall into her like a pool of dark water, the way he taught her. She swallows it, files it away in a dusty folder labelled  _ FAMILY_. The folder is disused, almost untouched in years. She has no family. Her family is the Empire. Everything she has done for years has been for one purpose, for the protection of the Empire, for the good of all, and she is good at what she does. She is a model pupil. A model citizen.

“I understand,” she says at last. “You were doing what was best for the Empire. I am important, I am chosen, so you had to be sure. My family would have understood. If they were loyal. And if they were not, then I cannot mourn their deaths.”

He watches her a moment longer, and then a pleased smile spreads across his face. “Quite so,” he says, pride painting each word. “Greatness has a price. But you will be so very great.”

~*~*~

It’s dark when she steps outside, the night coming early this late in the year. She blinks, almost blind in the dark, but she doesn’t pull out a light stone, doesn’t even wait for her eyes to adjust. She knows the compound like the back of her hand, knows the paths as well as she knows her spells. 

She walks slowly back to her manor, one leaden foot in front of the other. The halfling servant Talin greets her at the door, but she can hardly hear his words. All she wants is her bath and her bed. 

“Is the tub ready?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says. “I kept it warm for you. Would the Lady like any help undressing?”

“No, thank you, Talin,” she says. “You’re dismissed for the night. I won’t be requiring any further assistance.”

He gives a shallow bow. “Yes, Lady,” he says. “Good night, Lady.”

“Good night.”

As Talin retreats to his room on the upper floor, Astrid finally steps into the privacy of her own quarters. A large wooden tub sits in the corner of the room, wisps of steam rising from the surface, condensing in the cold air. It looks deliciously inviting, but Astrid does not climb in. Instead, she pulls up a stool and sits by the edge, staring into the watery depth. There is nothing to see below the surface, only darkness and aged wood, but she stares into it anyways, stares right through the wisps of steam that obscure her vision from time to time, almost unseeing. Her mind is not elsewhere. It is nowhere at all. 

She stands abruptly, stepping into the bath fully clothed. She can feel her skirts grow heavy with the water, and she sits, feeling it seep through the fabric to brush against her skin, warm and pleasant. A gesture and a few murmured words and the water is nearly hot enough to scald. She tips her head back against the edge of the tub, breathing through the almost-pain, focusing on counting the inhales and exhales just as she was taught. 

After twenty slow breaths, she slides down, letting her head slip below the water. The water burns on her face, and her neck stings along the scars, but she welcomes it. After a moment, she opens her eyes, feeling them ache and water, salt tears blending with the bathwater. She feels lighter underwater, as though the world around her doesn’t quite exist.

Not for the first time, she wishes she could stay in this suspended state for longer than the few short minutes of a bath. Surely the outside world can do without her for a little while. Surely she has earned a break. She reaches for a piece of hollow reed tucked in her belt pouch, but she knows before she even opens her mouth that she’s too drained for the spell to work, only the simplest charms still within her reach. 

She lets out a sigh, watching the bubbles float up to the surface. She holds herself there, submerged, weightless, breathless, until her lungs begin to ache. A few more seconds, just a few more sweet seconds.

At last, she breaks the surface with a silent gasp, feeling the water cascade off of her and the air flood into her and the weight of the world return to her. She sits there for a moment, chest heaving, waiting for the calm to return.

When it does, she stands, mechanically strips off her clothes, and drops them on the floor. She kneels in the tub, scrubbing herself raw with brutal efficiency. Then she stands again, drying herself with some of the last scraps of her magical energy. Drying her clothes this way takes slightly longer, and ultimately she leaves them to hang still slightly damp as the world begins swimming before her eyes. 

She barely climbs into bed before unconsciousness claims her, whisking her away to sweet oblivion. She used to worry about the nightmares, her sleep interrupted by ghosts, but now the dark water has swallowed even those.

She does not dream. Not of anything. Not anymore. 


End file.
